


Whispers

by guardianstar



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Hearing Voices, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mental Institutions, Minor Original Character(s), Mutant Powers, Mutants, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Schizophrenia, Telepathy, Xavier Institute, telepathic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianstar/pseuds/guardianstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac Lewis has been in a psychiatric hospital for almost a year, plagued by voices in his head. It's only when a kind man in a wheelchair comes to visit him that he realises he isn't experiencing the effects of schizophrenia but instead something much more complex.</p><p> </p><p>(Still deciding whether or not to throw some gay romance in there. It would either be with Quicksilver or Nightcrawler)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memoir

_It’s kind of amazing, when you think about it, the kind of people whom you can meet in this world of ours. Everyone has their own story, their own life as complex and detailed as our own. It’s a lot to think about, really._

_Think of it this way: there are around four and a half billion people in the world today, people who will experience a twenty four hour day just like the rest of us. That’s just over twelve million years worth of experienced time in ONE day, sixty one times longer than our species has existed on this planet! Can you imagine? I can only imagine to a certain extent, even with my current...circumstances. But take those numbers and think about how many people you know? That will vary depending on how social you are but my social circle is pretty small, I’ve probably known all of fifty people my whole life. Sure I’ve met way more than that but only briefly and they were swiftly forgotten. No, I’m talking family and friends. For me, that’s my parents, my sister, and the people in the nuthouse. It’s actually a psychiatric hospital, but that name sounds way too organised._

_The people here are more normal than you’d think; we aren’t all in strait jackets and padded rooms, laughing our heads off or screaming, most of us appear to be just like anyone else from the outside. One of my closer friends, Oliver, is the sweetest thing you can imagine. He’s so kind and gentle it’s sometimes hard to look at him. He has severe anger issues, and I mean severe. It’s why he’s in the advanced ward with me and not among the more low-risk patients. He’s pretty chill most of the time but when he gets angry he becomes...something else. It’s like he disappears and becomes something else, something violent. There are always a couple of nurses nearby who are paid to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone. I know I said these places aren’t full of people who need to be dragged away kicking and screaming half the time, but we aren’t here for fun and games. We all have a reason to be here. The kid with scars all over his body tells the funniest jokes, the insomniac tells people stories when they wake up from nightmares to help them get back to sleep, the girl who wants to kill herself has an amazing talent for art and will draw whatever you want, and the guy with social anxiety makes sure no one sits alone during meals. None of us are exactly normal but we’re good people. We aren’t who the world thinks we are. Some of us are closer to that image than others, though, I can’t argue with that, but you can’t judge the shorties for getting in here. They’re downstairs in the low-risk ward I mentioned, on the ground floor._

_The ones down there are the more short-term guys who just need a few pills and adjustment time and boom they’re back on the road to the open arms of their family who have missed them oh so much. I envy them, I can practically feel the happiness they do coursing through my veins when they finally get to leave this place. They’re almost always here by their own choice and could easily leave whenever they want, but it’s all part of the healing process. There are some things you can’t let your family see. It’s why I always hate it when my sister comes to visit. You shouldn’t judge them though, they’re just a little sick, they aren’t like us weirdoes upstairs. I’ve heard people give them a lot of grief for coming here, that they end up being treated like a psycho. We’re the real psychos. I mean we aren’t but we are. Argh, I’m sorry my thoughts are so confusing and contradictory, I keep losing track of what I’m saying. I’ve already spent four hours trying to write this thing and I’m not even a thousand words in. You can’t blame me for struggling. It’s hard to think coherently when the whole world is screaming in your_

 

“Isaac!”

My head snapped up from where I was agonising over the sheets of paper on my desk. A swarm of broken words and phrases attacked me from all angles and I winced, rubbing my temple with one hand while I used the other to steady myself on the chair. Without my concentration, it was hard to keep the voices at bay.

“There you are, come on, kiddo, it’s time for dinner.” It was my nurse, Evelyn. She was nice and spoke with a soft voice, even with the raised tone she uses when I’m out of it. I still can’t pronounce her name; it only ever comes out as ‘Eve’ before my concentration breaks and the rest becomes an incoherent mumble. Schizophrenia is a bitch when it overrides your thoughts with what feels like the voices of all four and a half billion people on the planet.

I pushed myself out of the chair and let her guide me to the communal area. It’s full of tables which we can sit at during day hours for meals or to socialise. I didn’t really need Evelyn to guide me everywhere, but I’ve been known to bump into things and so on when walking around on my own so they figured it was safer to give me an escort. It was kind of embarrassing at first but it really is much easier with her here.

She guided me to where Oliver was sitting with one of his nurses and Christa, the girl I mentioned in my memoir with crazy art skills and suicidal tendencies. Writing a memoir was an activity the nurses organised for everyone in the ward, as sort of task to get an idea of how we’re all doing. They didn’t specify what we should write or how to word it, so I’m just using it to gather what little thoughts I can reach that are still my own. My psychiatrist told me that the voices are speaking from various parts of myself; that they’re just reorganised versions of my own thoughts, but I find that hard to believe. Most of what they tell me is hard to believe.

“Dude, you in there?” A hand waved in my line of sight and I jolted, turning to face Oliver who was grinning at me with hopeful eyes. How long had I been sitting there? “Hello again, Buddy. How’s the memoir going? I saw you sitting at your desk with those sheets of paper ages ago.”

There was food in front of me. I took a bite. Still warm but not as much as I’d like, it had been there for a while. I tried to focus on Oliver’s question. “I-it’s hard.”

He chuckled, “Of course it is for you; you’re putting way to much effort into this thing. You’ve probably set yourself a word count goal thing, haven’t you?”

I nodded. It’s a little easier to focus around Oliver. The voices are still loud, louder in here than in my room, but it’s easier to drown them out when I have something to focus on. It took me a minute to remember the numbers I was looking for. “Five. Five thousand, I think. Yeah. Yeah.” I’d started tapping my fingers against the table. I knew people usually found that annoying, I could feel it, but I also knew Oliver never noticed it so it was okay. The numbers repeated over and over in my head. If I thought them loud enough then the voices got even quieter.

“Damn son, I was set by the time I reached a hundred. How can you even think enough to write that much?”

I snorted. “I can’t.”

“Did your head have any fun information to offer that you could put in?”

My fingers thrummed a little faster as my concentration broke a little and a wave of harsh whispers drilled at my brain. I shut my eyes and took a few deep breaths. Damn it my head hurt. “Numbers.”

“Numbers?”

I nodded. _I’ll show you._ The words wouldn’t come out the first few times I tried. When they did, Oliver’s grin somehow widened. “That’s rad, dude, I could read the whole thing! Though I doubt I can be bothered to read that much. What about you, Christa? Wanna find out what goes though our beautiful boy’s head?”

I grimaced at his words and gave him a withering look, but Christa had a soft smile on her face. “Sure, if that’s alright with you, Isaac.”

I shrugged. It was all Oliver needed for a yes. “We can do that tomorrow then! I’ve got a meet with me shrink after dinner, don’t I, Al?” Oliver’s nurse nodded. “Sweet, my guy’s awesome. Your one kinda gives me the creeps, though, Christa. She looks so mean and scary.”

Christa scowled, “It’s called a resting bitchface, numbnuts. She’s really nice and helps me loads.”

“That’s what their paid for,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Well some earn their pay check more than others. What about yours, he’s new right?”

I tried to focus on the image of Doctor Levithan. He said I could call him by his first name when we met but I could never remember it and I can only ever remember his surname because I think of it as leviathan. Of course he doesn’t resemble any kind of large sea monster, but it’s the association I always think of. I told him as much and, fortunately, it just made him smile. I think he’ll note down my association with biblical monsters as something related to my psychological state, but at this point I’ve stopped caring. I’ve already accepted that I’m probably never going to get out of here. If I stay here too long they’ll probably resort to shock therapy. It’s an old fashioned method of treatment and isn’t approved of in most places but there’s always a last resort. Always.

“Isaac? Remember where you are buddy.”

I frowned and rubbed my forehead. It was getting harder to concentrate. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Oliver’s nurse was giving me a weird look. Something condemning, like he knew I wasn’t improving. “Hey, are you in pain? You keep rubbing your head and scrunching your face up.”

I shifted my gaze to Oliver. “No...no, I’m fine.”

He wasn’t convinced. “We can get Eve to help you back to your room if you want-”

 _“I’m fine!”_ I snapped at him, raising my voice louder than I meant to. The voices in my head went quiet for a second before coming back even louder. I couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain I made. Another deep breath. I tried not to focus on the voices which were mimicking what was probably what everyone in the room was thinking right now. _What’s up with Isaac? Is he okay? Is Oliver gonna Hulk out on him? Are they gonna fight? He’s getting worse by the day? He’s worse off than we are. He’s gone totally wacko. Maybe he’ll join the padded room squad, haha..._

“Isaac, can you hear me?”

I blinked. I was back in my room. What happened? I looked around my room for the voice and found Doctor Leviathan sitting at my desk. _No, Levithan._ My confusion must have been obvious to the Doctor. “Oliver told me you were talking and that you yelled at him. Is that true?”

I took a shaky breath and nodded. I was sitting on the edge of my bed. How did I get here?

“You wouldn’t respond to anyone after that. Evelyn was called over and you were guided back here. It’s been almost an hour.”

I frowned. Where did all that time go? “I-is Oliver...is he okay?”

A smile. “He’s fine, just concerned for his friend.”

My fingers were tapping again. It wasn’t enough on the bed, not a solid enough surface. “I’m not...I’m not getting b-better am I?”

“What makes you say that?”

Another shaky breath. I pressed my palms over my ears even though I knew it wouldn’t block out the noise. “Months,” I muttered. “Nothing’s changed.”

A pause. His voice was muffled though my ears. It was hard to make out over the noise so I removed my hands and he repeated his words. “How are the voices today?”

A broken laugh. “Loud. Too loud.” _They’re always too loud._

“Would you like some of your sleeping meds?” It had already been established that medication won’t help with my schizophrenia, but they can still be used to help me sleep. The voices usually stretch into my dreams and shape them, giving me these horrible nightmares. Insomnia was only to be expected and it’s impossible to get to sleep at night without the medication. Sometimes they don’t work either.

I felt my nails dig into my arm. It was sharp. The pain helped me to focus. “Yeah.”

A short time later I was burying my face in a pillow, doing my best to shut out the voices whispering the darkest of things in my ears.


	2. Visitor

“Isaac, you have a visitor.”

I looked up from my memoir. I’d almost reached two thousand. “My sister?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No, a man. He says he’s a friend of your father.”

I frowned. _My father?_ I let her guide me to the visitor’s lounge while I dwelled on that. I didn’t know many of my dad’s friends. He kept mostly to himself and his friends were few and far between. He always said that mom was enough but I figured it was just his aloofness and poor social skills that kept him from a social life. That and his work. The whole “daddy’s always at work and never spends time with me” story is an old one, something that lacks any real meaning these days. It’s typical and well known but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Everything hurt even before these bloody voices started screaming in my head.

“Isaac? Stay with me, kiddo, try to stay focused for this visit, okay? Wouldn’t want to waste it, right?”

I ignored the frustration I felt at her slightly patronising tone. I knew she didn’t mean to sound that way but that didn’t make it any less offensive. I didn’t need some false sense of teamwork. Nonetheless, I worked on softening my expression from it’s usually strain and strengthened that wall we all have built between ourselves and others. When Evelyn was satisfied with my slightly less dishevelled appearance she guided me through the door which lead to where my visitor would be waiting.

I should mention that when Evelyn described him as a friend of my father I’d imagined some kind of gruff businessman like himself. Someone who demanded respect and made you feel inferior just to look at them. I don’t know but I definitely wasn’t expecting a gentle faced man in a wheelchair.

His face brightened as we walked in and a smile spread across his face. There was another standing slightly behind him, taller with glasses. He seemed a little nervous but otherwise at ease. His eyes were taking in the rest of the room as well as us but the wheelchair guy’s eyes were focused on me.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” Evelyn said before leaving the room. My eyes shifted to one of the large windows in the room which overlooked the gardens outside. The windows in our ward were all small or protected so we couldn’t break them. They said there’d been people who used them for the glass. People had died because of it. The only real windows were downstairs or in the visiting rooms.

The man in the wheelchair spoke. “My name is Charles Xavier and this is my friend, Hank McCoy.”

The man who stood behind him smiled and nodded at me. I narrowed my eyes at them, confused. “You know my dad?”

“I know your father, yes, though calling me a friend of his is a bit much,” he said with a smirk. “He was never really a social chap, was he?” A British accent. Dad never mentioned that he went to England.

“He probably just doesn’t want to brag. He always hated that sort of thing,” he said. I frowned; did I say that out loud? It’s hard to focus with all the noise...

“I can help with that if you’d like.”

“With what?” I asked, trying to focus on him.

“Those voices in your head, Isaac, they aren’t the result of schizophrenia.”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever tried listening to them, Isaac? _Really_ listening?”

My frown deepened. “No, if I listened to them I’d probably be dead. They don't say nice things, they suggest...they say I should..." I struggled for words. "They aren’t exactly sunshine and daisies, sir.”

His expression saddened. “No, they aren’t. Tell me, what do you know about mutants?”

I tilted my head to one side. “They’re those guys with weird powers, supposed to be the next step in human evolution or something. I heard about that guy who went for world domination a few years ago and pretty much destroyed Egypt. That was fun.” I snorted, “If news reaches the insane asylum you know it’s big.”

“You aren’t insane, Isaac, you’re a mutant.”

“I’m gonna have to tell my shrink that I’m hallucinating too. I knew I was getting worse.”

“Your ability is called Telepathy. Those voices in your head? They’re the thoughts of the people around you, not your own, not the result of a mental illness, you’re reading people’s minds.”

I paused, going over his words in my head. It’s true that the voices usually reflected what other people were going through or what they were talking about. It explained some other things...

I shook my head, “How can I just believe that? I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was a mutant. Also, isn’t mutation a genetic thing?” Another pause. “Is my dad a mutant? Is that how you know him?”

Another smile from Charles. “No, your father had no mutant abilities. Your grandmother however-”

“She was a mutant?!” I exclaimed, “What the hell?! What could she do?”

He chuckled. “Her ability was much like ours, though she read memories instead of thoughts. She could also manipulate them, creating and destroying them as she pleased. She was a kind soul, though, and never abused her powers.”

“You met her too?”

“Yes. You see your father and I went to Oxford University together. I met his mother once and we...shared a moment. She saw that I was a mutant and vice versa. She’s the one who notified me about your...situation.”

“Grandma did? I haven’t seen her in ages, even before I ended up here.” I ran a hand through my hair which was somehow more dishevelled than before. “So...am I really a mutant?”

“Yes.” His expression was sympathetic. He understood what I was going through. The voices had quietened in his presence, so they were no more than a whisper in the back of my head. I barely noticed them and I actually had to call them back in order to listen to them again.

“Y-you aren’t lying...I think.” I pulled at my hair a little, struggling to decide what to believe. I looked into Charles’ eyes, desperate for an answer. “How do I know I can trust any of this? I’ve been here for almost a year, I’ve...I’ve seen...the thing’s I hear all day, _every_ day, I can’t...I don’t know...”

A hand gripped my shoulder and I jumped a little, glancing up to see that Charles had moved closer to me and was giving me a determined look. “I know your pain, Isaac. I have felt it and it has kept me up more nights than I can count. I’m sorry that you’ve had to dwell in such a place as this with no control over your abilities. It must’ve been hard.” I was crying now. Why was I crying? Why did this hurt so much? Acknowledgement is good, right?

_If you’ll let me, I can help you control your powers._

His voice in my head drowned out all others and replaced it with a blissful silence I hadn’t felt for years. A choked sob escaped my mouth and I moved my hand from my hair to cover it, to contain the pain that was threatening to spill out for all to see. I shut my eyes and sat like that for a while, enjoying the darkness of a quiet mind.

 _Yes_ , I replied, _I’d like that._


	3. Blackbird

Before he left, Charles warned me that he wouldn’t be able to dampen my abilities long-distance to prepare me for the onslaught of thoughts that would come after he left. It was painful, watching him leave with his friend knowing that, but I figured I might as well make the most of my clear head while it lasted. I even managed to finish my memoir, all five thousand words of it. I finished it in the same day Charles came over and showed it to Oliver.

“Dang,” he’d said, “looks like someone’s meds are finally kicking in.”

They really were.

Not the meds of course, but I guess there’s no other way to explain it. The next day the nurses got a call from my father with instructions to have me out of the facility by the end of the week. After that life was a series of hugs and _I’ll miss you_ talks among other things. I could hear in my head how people really felt about it. A lot of them didn’t really care that much, I was the weird kid even in a mental hospital so it wasn’t like I had a lot of friends to say goodbye to. Oliver was the one whom I’d miss the most. He had a whole episode when he found out I would be leaving and had to be restrained for a few hours and received his daily medication early. It was only later that he came to me in tears and hugged me for who knows how long. Christa was pretty sad too and gave me a painting of the three of us together; taken from a photo someone had taken a few months ago. We all had a copy of it, but she said she wanted me to have something a little more personal. Apparently Oliver had wanted to give me something too but he wasn’t exactly an artsy type. We had an arts and craft activity group here on Wednesdays that he always ended up in fits of anger over.

“Even Picasso’s paintings make more sense than the shit I make,” he’d said once when we were all trying to figure out what he’d drawn a picture of.

“I know!” Christa had exclaimed, “It’s a horse!”

“It’s a crocodile,” he’d growled, scrunching it up and throwing it away.

Yeah, I wasn’t expecting anything from him. His love was enough for me.

They’d thrown a party for me on my last day with a traditional _“congratulations, you’re sane!”_ cake to celebrate. There was a talent show, people sang, it was fun. This place had its moments and I’d miss them, I’d definitely miss Oliver and Christa, but I’d be glad to never come back here ever again.

Charles came to collect me on my last day. Part of me had expected dad to be there with him but I wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t. I offered a weak smile in response to his bright one and took a moment to appreciate the quiet I felt around him. It wasn't like before, there was no silence, but the voices had been reduced to whispers in their various tones. I now knew the harsher tones were generally from my fellow patients...who are no longer my fellows. I guess I'm an ex-patient now. It's a peculiar feeling but, again, it's not something I'll miss. There were too many restrictions in that place. Too many loopholes for the wicked.

“Ready to leave?” The professor's voice broke through my thoughts.

I glanced around. I hadn’t been outside the grounds in ages. We were allowed out on a private, isolated, area of the gardens every day but it had been months since I’d gone anywhere else. I looked down at the pitifully small bag holding the few belongings I had and the fact that I was leaving truly set in. I shifted my gaze to the horizon and thought about how I could just go there.

“Where are we going?” I asked. I hadn’t really thought about it and sort of figured I’d be going home, though I didn’t really want to go there.

“To my school, Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.”

“Like a school for mutants?”

“Exactly that,” he said, “though I hope to one day have students both human and mutant there, working side by side as allies.” A nice dream. The way he said it, with such hope and determination, made me want it to be accomplished. “There you will carry out the rest of your education while learning to control your powers.”

“Regular school plus super school?”

“Indeed.”

“Could be worse.”

Somehow that made him laugh and he turned his wheelchair, moving across the road. “I hope you don’t mind flying. We’ll be taking our jet.”

I gaped at him, focusing enough to walk alongside him. “You guys have a _jet?!_ What are you, filthy rich?”

He didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “Yes, actually.”

I shook my head, “I’ll remember to use you for money when I need it.”

The jet was known as the Blackbird, something which Hank wanted to make clear when I boarded the jet. He was obviously proud of it and I barely needed to glance at his thoughts to see that he’d designed and built it. “You must be, like, a genius to build a whole plane,” I muttered, taking a seat near the cockpit where Hank was prepping for flight.

“Thank you,” he said, grinning. “It’s already been destroyed a few times so we’re trying to make this one last a while longer.”

I raised my eyebrows, shifting my gaze back to Charles, who was still smiling at me. It would’ve been creepy but I could hear that he was just pleased with the whole situation. He was practically burning with compassion and a desire to help; I didn’t need to wonder why he came all this way for me. I didn’t feel worth it but maybe he just understood, being a fellow Telepath and all. He must’ve lived through the same struggles and wanted to spare me from spiralling into insanity in that bloody facility. “You guys get your fair share of action, huh?” I asked as the jet took flight.

“Unfortunately, yes, but that is what the X-Men are for.”

I perked up a little. “The team of mutants? The ones who are all ‘save the world!’ and all that?”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it in such a way, but yes. The X-Men are a group of mutants who fight for peace and equality between humans and mutants in the world. That’s also part of what my school is for. When we find students among the best and brightest that show a lot of promise, we accept them into the X-Men to further their training in a more...combat-oriented environment.”

“So you train them to fight?”

“In a way, yes, but there is more to battle than repeatedly hitting each other.” He paused. “Though some people seem happy to indulge in such things.”

I thought about that for a few minutes before speaking again. “How many people are there at this school?”

“Not as many as I’d like. Around fifty or so I’d say, though the numbers rise and fall depending on what’s happening in the world. After the events in Egypt and the school’s destruction, many students were pulled out by anxious parents but our numbers are rising again. A lot of our students have yet to return so you’ll probably only meet thirty or forty of them for now.” A pause. “We’re currently in the middle of the holidays so there won’t be anyone except for a handful of students for a few weeks. You’ll have time to settle in without being swamped by a large number of active minds.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that I won’t just be leaping from one frying pan into another. I knew that distance was good for me. I could feel the difference up here in the sky. Things were...quieter. Voices were near-silent whispers in the distance. Hank’s thoughts were clear and obvious; poking at my head, demanding attention, but the professor’s mind was quiet. Perhaps it was guarded? I’d have to ask later. For now I was content to sit in silence and enjoy the newfound joys of being alone in my mind.


	4. Xavier's School for the Gifted

It took surprisingly little time to reach the school. I found a window to peer out of and watched a basketball court open up to reveal an underground cave of sorts which we gradually lowered into. I couldn’t help the look I gave the professor. “Really?” I asked. “A high-tech landing zone? You’re basically flaunting your wealth. That whole mansion screams ‘I’m full of expensive things, please rob me’! At least tell me it’s high security.”

“This building is made to house mutants of all sorts, Isaac; the idea of a few burglars is a weak one. Especially when you have students like ours to help protect it.”

I listened to the voices coming from the main building and smirked, “I see what you mean.”

The professor’s gaze suddenly grew serious. “Now listen, Isaac, I know you cannot control your powers yet but I need you to try to avoid looking too deeply into people’s minds. It’s a breach of privacy and it would be best for you to not abuse your powers.”

I blinked, startled, and shrank back a little. “I wasn’t planning to.”

His expression softened. “I know, I’m just letting you know. Everyone here has things they’d rather not share, secrets they don’t want uncovered. I’m sure you’re the same.”

I tried to keep my mind away from the memories that tried to surface. “Yeah...I’ll try, though I really can’t promise anything.”

“You can only do your best.”

We exited the jet and Charles took me around the school. He must’ve gotten Hank to tell the few students still in school not to approach me yet because we didn’t encounter anyone on the tour. I didn’t want to appear clingy or overly attached so soon but I was afraid to be too far away from the professor. Being close to him was like wearing sound proof earphones, the voices fell away and never has anything sounded more beautiful. Ironic, isn’t it? That the most beautiful sound could be the total lack of one? Except it’s not total, that seems to require both physical contact and a certain degree of concentration. No, this just filters out the worst of the noise. I still hear everything but it’s not as loud or persistent. I can ignore most of it. Without him it’s just...over stimulating. Like someone stabbing my brain repeatedly but worse...I’m not sure how to describe it. Either way I’ve found myself keeping close the professor. If he was bothered by it, he never mentioned it.

“Are you ready to meet your new classmates?” He asked once the tour had ended. I could hear their thoughts coming from a nearby room, there were six of them, including Hank. They seemed to either be talking to one another or occupied with their own activities. Watching a movie, reading a book, etc. They all seemed...content, happy. It assured me that this was a good place.

I nodded. With my approval, Charles guided me though a door leading to a communal room with a few couches and a TV. There were bookshelves, coffee tables, and all sorts decorating and filling the room, but not overcrowding it. It was lived in but in a good way. Six pairs of eyes shifted to look at us, all belonging to a variety of faces. Suddenly I felt extremely nervous and shifted to stand a little behind the professor.

“Everyone, this is Isaac Lewis, he’ll be your classmate from now on. I expect you to be kind and make him feel welcome.” For a terrifying moment I thought he was going to leave me there to face these people alone with their thoughts but he remained by my side while everyone greeted me in their own way.

A woman with yellow eyes, red hair, and blue skin was the first to be introduced. “I’m Mystique, though you may call me Raven.”

I tentatively shook the hand that was offered to me. “Um, it’s nice to meet you, Raven.”

The next was a girl with red hair and kind eyes. She told me that she was called Jean and, in her head, told me that she was a telepath as well. I couldn’t help but grin at that, glad to have yet another person who was like me. _How do you deal with it?_ I asked internally, hoping she’d hear the message from my head since I wasn’t sure if I could send them yet. She shrugged and smiled sadly at me in reply. _Sometimes I don’t._

Next was a rather assertive looking guy who wore solid-looking red glasses which hid his eyes. “Scott,” he said stiffly, offering a hand to shake. I took it while Jean elbowed Scott with a stern look and his expression immediately softened when he turned to look at her. _Someone likes somebody,_ I thought mischievously and Jean looked at me knowingly. I didn’t need to look in their minds to know they were dating, or at least close to it.

Those two walked off, exchanging banter, and were replaced by an anxious-looking boy with blue skin, yellow eyes, and a tail that was twitching nervously behind him. “My name’s Kurt, though in the Munich circus I was known as The Incredible Nightcrawler.”

I shook his three finger/clawed hand and smirked. “What is it with all these nicknames? It’s like some kind of boy band.”

“Do boy bands have codenames?” He asked, tilting his head to one side. I noted the German accent.

“I wouldn’t know,” I admitted. “It was the first thing I thought of.” I paused and glanced back at Raven, who had returned to reading a book. “Are there any more blue guys I should know about?”

“Hank is blue when he’s in his natural form,” a girl with silver hair and dark skin chirped, coming over to stand beside Kurt. “I’m Ororo Munroe, but just call me Storm.”

I nodded, greeting her, but focused on her first words. “His natural form?”

“Yes, he takes medication to suppress his power to look like everyone else.”

I glanced over at Hank who was also reading a book. “Huh, so what’s his natural form like?”

“You’ll see someday,” Storm said, grinning. “It’s like a big blue teddy bear.”

“That’s the worst description of me I’ve ever heard,” Hank said, looking up from his book with mock annoyance on his face. Storm laughed. “Hey, you’d do what I do as well if your body shed blue fur everywhere!”

“This is giving me a terrible mental image of you,” I chuckled. Hank huffed and glared at Storm who was still laughing at him. A sudden gust of wind ruffled my hair a little and I jumped at the sudden sound of fast-paced thoughts next to me.

“What’s giving you a terrible mental image of who?” A voice attached to those thoughts spoke from near my shoulder.  


I leapt back a little, shocked. “What the-” My back bumped into a table and I turned to see a vase threaten to fall to the ground. _Shit._ I reached out to stop it but suddenly it was back on the table, looking better than ever with a silver haired boy, with goggles resting on his forehead, leaning towards me. A triumphant smirk was plastered on his face, as though he knew I was impressed. “Super speed?” I asked.

“Congratulations! You got it!” He took my hand and shook it quickly. “The name’s Pietro Maximoff, but you can call me Peter. That or Quicksilver.”

I opened my mouth to reply but he was gone again in another gust of wind. “Fast guy,” I said, still slightly taken aback, and Kurt nodded.

“Yes, he moves around a lot.”

“I guess I should be the one to say this, if no one else will,” Jean said loudly, breaking through everyone’s concentration. She moved to stand in front of me and spread her arms out somewhat dramatically, causing Scott to laugh from where he stood. “Isaac Lewis, welcome to Xavier’s School for the Gifted.”


	5. The Least of Your Abilities

A room had been prepared for me in advance during the few days between Charles’ visit to the mental hospital and my arrival at the mansion. It was closer to the professor’s private room than was probably considered normal, but I guess they allowed it given my current state. I’d probably be moved somewhere else when I gained more control over my abilities...which were still strange to think about as other people’s thoughts instead of my own. It made more sense this way, I always had trouble believing what my therapists said in the hospital, but it was still weird thinking of it all as mutant powers rather than a mental illness. Surprising is probably a more fitting word. 

I could feel Charles’ guarded mind from his office, where he was having a conversation with Raven and Hank. I tried not to listen to their thoughts but it was impossible to avoid picking up a few things, enough to know that they were talking about me. Raven was wary of me and didn’t like the idea of someone who couldn’t hold themselves back from looking into the minds of others, that it meant that no one would have a shred of privacy around me. She was torn between concern for me, for the fact that I would likely be ostracised by the other students, and...distrust? Discomfort? She didn’t like me but she pitied me? It was hard to figure out, but she seemed to want to keep her distance from me. I couldn’t argue with that, I wanted distance from people too.

Hank was more interested in figuring out how to develop a technology to help me keep people’s thoughts at bay. Charles was explaining to him how he was using his own psychic abilities to dampen my own, to shield my mind as best he could, but it only really worked best when he was nearby. As distance increased, the strength of his power to help me decreased, which was why I was to be kept close to him for the moment. Raven didn’t like this.

_Isaac?_

I jumped, startled at the louder voice in my head which momentarily blocked out the conversation going on in Charles’ office, but smirked when I recognised the voice. “Hey, Jean.”

“It’s rude to eavesdrop you know?” She said, leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door.

I winced, “You noticed?”

“I also know you feel somewhat guilty about it, so I’ll forgive you.” She paused, “You can hear their thoughts from up here?”

“Can’t you?”

“I’m like you in the fact that I can’t really control what thoughts I hear, but mine only really work close-range. Yours however...” she frowned, “it’s like they’re coming from everywhere.”

I shrugged, “I used to describe it as listening to the voices of everyone on the planet.”

She snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think even your powers can stretch that far. That would turn anyone insane.” I flinched and her expression immediately turned guilty. “Oh, crap, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

I waved my hand dismissively, returning to the bag I’d set on my bed. “I know, you didn’t mean anything by it. I can read your thoughts, remember? I know.” I pulled the photo of Oliver and Christa from the bag and immediately smiled sadly. “You know what the best part of finding out I’m a mutant is? I finally know I’m not insane.” I looked back up at Jean. “I’m not some crazy lunatic with voices in his head, I’m a guy with the ability to read people’s minds...it makes me wonder whether or not there are other people like me out there, people who are disregarded as ‘clinically insane’ when in reality they’re just...different.” My eyes fell back to the photo. _Though I guess that applies to all of us. Maybe we aren’t that far apart, I mean we’re both treated like freaks anyway. Mutants and crazies..._

“That isn’t true, Isaac,” Jean said softly. She moved towards me but I flinched away. She frowned, confused.

“S-sorry,” I stuttered, “it’s just- um...it’s better not to touch...I don’t want to-”

“Physical contact is bad,” she said, understanding in her voice, as she raised her arms and took a step back. I could hear that her intentions were good and I was ashamed that I visibly relaxed as she moved away, but I’ve always been saying that distance is better. “Yeah, I understand that,” Jean said, hearing my thoughts. “Our powers are usually more effective with physical contact, I understand.”

I nodded; the fact that she understood meaning more to me than I could say. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I-It wasn’t bad when I was with the Professor. I barely even remembered not to touch people, but he’s further away now and...it’s just...it’s painful. Like I’m looking into your soul and everything you think, feel, remember, it’s all sharpened like a million knives coming at me in the space of a second and...” A shaky breath escaped me and I moved to sit on my new bed. “I’d rather avoid that, wherever possible. It’s not as bad through clothes, so I always wore thick stuff at the hospital. They assumed it was something sensory, I don’t know.” I recalled my last hug with Oliver. He’d been careful not to touch my skin, he always was, but I’d been able to feel all of him. His pain and anger over me leaving, his feelings for Christa...

 _I understand,_ Jean’s voice spoke in my mind again. _I always get something of people’s thoughts when I touch them, more than what I can hear normally. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you but I think I can begin to. ___

_I smiled. _Thanks, Jean.__

__This might be kind of weird to say, but I noticed that Charles’ has been using his powers to shield your mind from other people’s thoughts._ _

__Yeah, it’s been really helpful. To be honest I’m actually kind of afraid to be away from him now. Even just being up here is hard. Nowhere near as bad as it was before, but even here with you I can feel everyone’s thoughts in the mansion. Scott is a little concerned about me, he thinks that you and I will...do things, especially since we have the whole ‘hurray for fellow telepaths’ thing to bond over. He doesn't need to be concerned about that though. Peter keeps pulling Kurt’s tail and then running away. Kurt’s getting annoyed about it but Peter thinks it’s all hilarious- his thoughts are crazily faced paced, though, it’s incredible._ _

__It comes with the super speed,_ she explained. _His mind needs to keep up with his feet. But you’re way more incredible. Seriously, if this is your powers in an untrained state, you could become something amazing. You’re already advancing and you haven’t even started your training yet. You’ve never had a telepathic conversation with someone, right?__

_I blinked, surprised. “Is that what that was?”_

__Aaaand you broke it._ “Yes, Isaac, that was part of your telepathy. I can tell it’s new, you keep switching between just thinking your words and projecting them into my head.”_

_“There’s a difference?”_

_“Of course there’s a difference. Don’t worry, the professor will teach you all about that in your training. Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of help. You’re the most exciting thing to happen to us recently.”_

_“Don’t you guys go on missions and stuff? You’re all X-Men after all, I can hear it.”_

_“Well, yeah, but a new team member? That’s way more exciting.”_

_I snorted. “I don’t see what I have to offer. I’m barely holding myself together, I’ve been on the edge of sanity for so long now I can’t imagine being able to control this thing.”_

_“You’ll get stronger, I promise you that. The professor has helped me to control my abilities, he has helped everyone here. He will help you too.”_

_“Yeah but I just hear other people’s thoughts; and it hurts like hell. At least you can move stuff and Charles can control people.”_

_“You don’t know what you can do yet. What you can do now is the least of your abilities. It’s time to find out what the best of them are.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me whether or not a thing with Kurt or Peter would be better. I can feel myself leaning more towards Peter but votes WILL help like a ton


	6. The First Supper

We all ate dinner together that evening, during which I sat in between Charles and Jean. I didn’t fail to notice that they were now joining efforts to help me. It was nice, having the voices held back to such a length, but it made me feel guilty, knowing they were doing it all for my sake. They didn’t want me to feel that way, they were more than happy to help, but I didn’t want to be a burden. It made me more determined than ever to control my abilities as soon as possible.

“So, Isaac, how long have you had your powers for?” Storm asked.

“Um...well I guess they started to develop when I was about fifteen, I was a late bloomer, as my mom put it, but I didn’t really notice much in the beginning. I thought they were just my own thoughts and they weren’t really that loud or bothersome. It took about three years for them to become...painful. I tried to hide it at first but when it became hard to bear and I couldn’t really focus anymore, my sister noticed. I wanted her to keep it a secret but I guess she told our parents because suddenly I was in the loony bin.” I laughed without humour, trying to ignore the thoughts of pity being sent my way. I was revealing too much. “But yeah, so I guess that’s about four years, unless they appeared a little sooner than that and I didn’t notice.”

“It’s weird that they grew like that,” Peter said. He’d finished his food long ago and seemed to just be sticking around to talk. “I mean mine came in pretty much overnight. One moment I was a kid, the next moment I was a really fast kid.”  
“Is this not normal?” I asked, suddenly anxious.

“There is no average with mutation, Isaac, there’s no need to be afraid.” I turned to the professor. “Everyone mutates and adjusts to said mutation in different ways. Perhaps it was because you tried to suppress your abilities that they grew more...persistent.”

“What was it like for you?”

He paused, dwelling on memories that I did my best to ignore. “I was much like you at the very beginning. For a time I too believed my abilities came from a mental illness. It was only by exercising them and gathering information that I learned about mutants and the fact that I was one. I, however, didn’t have the misfortune of being encouraged to believe I was...”

“Crazy?” I suggested when he was at a loss for words.

“I wouldn't choose to word it as such.”

“But it’s not wrong.” I glanced at Jean. “But I know now that I’m not like that. I’d actually like to begin my training as soon as possible, if that’s alright with you. I’d rather not remain a burden to you, or to Jean, for longer than what is necessary.” I felt a spike of annoyance and protectiveness from Scott at the mention of Jean’s name, but relaxed when I heard her assure him that everything was fine, in his mind of course.

“You have no reason to feel like a burden, Isaac, but we may start your training as soon as you’d like.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How strong are your abilities exactly?” Kurt asked. His yellow eyes were bright and curious but also cautious; he didn’t want to upset me.

“Well at the moment I just know I can hear people’s thoughts. They get quieter when they’re further away, I think, but I guess we’ll find out how far I can hear during my training. Also, I think telepathic communication is a thing I can do now.” I glanced over at Jean for assurance and she nodded.

“We were talking a few hours ago and it was unsteady but he can do it.”

“Interesting,” Charles said, beaming. He was proud.

“I know, he’s doing so well already.” She moved to ruffle my hair and I tensed, expecting a torrent of thoughts, before I remembered that Charles was with me and relaxed. “Looks like we’re gonna have to work on your social skills though.”  


I rolled my eyes and pushed her hand away, smiling. “That’s not my fault.”

“We could take you out,” Kurt suggested suddenly, excited. “I was taken to the mall when I first arrived here. I did not even know what it was before then. We could do that with you, yes?” He seemed hopeful.

“Why not?” I laughed, “It’s been forever since I got to do anything like that...wait, that’s a public place though...”

“Right,” Scott said thoughtfully, “we wouldn’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“I’m sure I can suppress your abilities in the professor’s place, though I’m afraid it won’t be as effective,” Jean spoke softly, looking uncertain.

“It was just an idea,” Kurt sighed. “I did not fully consider the situation we would be putting you through, I am sorry.”

“I think I can help,” Hank said, catching everyone’s attention. “I’ve been thinking about it since we first met you, Isaac. I don’t know how long it would take to develop or if it would even work, but I think I could build something to nullify your powers. I mean people have already started to make these...inhibitor collars. They’re devices which use electronic means to keep mutants from consciously using their powers. It’s not normally used for these sorts of situations, it’s mostly been used to neutralise them and keep them under control, but I think it could be used in this situation.”

“Would it work?” I asked, hopefully.

Hank nodded, “I think it could. Maybe not completely but it can only help, right?”

“Thank you. Seriously, that’s amazing.” I laughed softly, running a hand through my hair. “I- Wow, that’s...I could be around people again without...I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Raven said, smiling at me. “It’s the least we can do for you.”

“We gotta get you some new clothes while we’re at it, dude,” Peter said, looking me up and down. “That hospital-style getup does not work for you.”

I looked down at my plain clothes and chuckled. “I guess not, though I don’t think I’ll follow your lead fashion wise.”

He clutched his chest, feigning offense. “What’s wrong with my clothes? Is it the Pink Floyd shirt? Are you not a fan?”  


“I think he may be referring to the shiny stuff, man,” Scott snorted.

“No and yes,” I said. “I haven’t really listened to much Pink Floyd, to be honest. They seem alright but I haven’t really been able to listen to much music recently.” A pause. “Actually, pop culture wise, I haven’t seen much of anything.”

“I understand that,” Kurt said, grinning. “I am still learning myself.”

“I’m somewhat behind as well,” Storm admitted. “Egypt isn’t exactly the best setting to indulge in _pop culture_.”

“Egypt?” I asked. “You lived there?”

“Yes. I left and came here with the X-Men after the events with Apocalypse.” Her expression darkened a little, “I am ashamed of my actions from back then.”

“You didn’t know what you were getting into, Ororo,” Charles’ said softly. “Your heart was always in the right place, you thought you were doing good.”

“For a time, yes, but there was a point where I knew what he was doing was wrong but I kept going. I tell myself that it’s because I thought there was no way to back out but that doesn’t make what I did any worse.”

“If we didn’t have your help at the time we would not have succeeded in defeating him,” Charles said firmly. “You have nothing to regret.”

She didn’t believe it, not entirely, but she was willing to let it go. “It’s really not my place to say anything here, I know nothing about the situation after all,” I said carefully, watching Storm for any sign that I should stop. She nodded for me to continue. “Um...I’ve only known you guys for a few hours but with what I can feel...you’re all good people. I mean, like, really good. I won’t be able to describe it all with words but, Ororo, you really don’t have to feel the way you do about it. Again I know nothing about what you did but I can see your heart and at its core is kindness. You’ve always been helping people, even before all of this. What this guy did, it wasn’t your fault. He was an asshole; I get that from what people say about how he wiped out a whole city like it was nothing. You didn’t hurt anyone. You would never hurt someone unless it was to protect someone else...or if they really, really deserved it, but then I guess that counts as protecting.” I fidgeted a little struggling to focus enough to figure out whether or not I was causing more bad than good. “I don’t really know what I’m saying anymore and- crap I just realised I sort of just intruded on a bunch of your memories, shit. Sorry about that. Am I making any sense? You’re a really great person Ororo, and what Charles says is true. I don’t see anything that makes you anything less than a good person.”

My gaze had fallen to my fingers, which were digging into my leg under the table. _I’m such an idiot, why did I have to say all that? You probably just caused a bunch of trouble-_

_Isaac, it’s okay. Come back to us._

I glanced up nervously. No one looked upset or annoyed. Storm was smiling at me, a mixture of emotions on her face. She was happy, grateful even. “Thank you, Isaac. That...that means a lot, really.” She seemed to prefer the fact that I’d said it all whilst not knowing anything about her situation. It made me unbiased apparently, though I wasn’t sure how that was helpful. Actually the fact that no one was annoyed confused me greatly. Everyone was a mixture of surprised and happy, maybe a little sad at the notion of Storm believing she was less than what she was.

 _Why isn’t anyone mad?_ I asked Jean.

_We’re all just glad I guess._

_About what?_

_You. You’re already proving yourself better than we thought you’d be._

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

She laughed quietly to herself. _Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out eventually._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, comments would be SO helpful. Think of it as voting for your chosen warrior of love, except cooler.
> 
> And don't you worry, TheAwesomeGilbo, I got you


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